My Cup Runneth Over

Last week I hinted - without second sight, I have to say - that this week might be better.  It began with a memory blank-out.  As I left the usual Monday morning breakfast, I explained to my friends that there are, effectively, three 'shifts' to our team, which change from day to day according to the work.  One is those who have been allocated work the night before and at the start of the day are already out on the road; the second is those who had returned the previous day but had not been given a job for the next; and the third is those who were out late the previous evening and now had to ring in or attend the office to be added to the list for the new day.  It was to this third shift that I belonged on Monday, I said.

Not so.  I had forgotten that the job that kept me out until 6.45 on Friday was classed as a local or 'back-end' job, and I was still on the list since Friday afternoon.  This became apparent when, at 7.30, I had scarcely taken my coat off, let alone made coffee and put the computer on, when the weekend controller called to send me to Hitchin to collect something for Bristol, and then call the office.  I did as I was bid, and returned home where I made my sandwiches, and generally got the working week under way.  Then, since nothing else had manifested itself, off to the grand city of the west, where I delivered just round the corner from Ashton Gate, the home of Bristol City FC.

Some years ago now, I discovered - quite by accident, since I was looking for somewhere to park while I examined the charity shop around the corner - a nice little barber's shop in Bristol's outer suburbs and, if I'm ever there when in need of a trim, I go there in preference to the one near home that is otherwise my local.  It's cheaper, and the service is of that old-fashioned, personal kind.  It may not be applicable now, of course, but one can almost imagine, as the brush is run across the shoulders (that does still happen there!) the half-whispered enquiry, 'something for the weekend, sir?'

So, freshly groomed, I set off for home.  As I travelled quite cheerfully around the M25, a cautious controller called me.  "I don't know if you'd be interested in this, Brian ..."  It's an opening that could have been guaranteed - and might indeed be used for the purpose - to prompt a 'yes' response.  The offer was a delivery on Tuesday, between 10.0 and 12.00 so no desperate pressure, in Glasgow, and an accompanying but totally separate collection in Edinburgh on Wednesday morning.  It would mean a stopover on the Tuesday night, of course.  It was like a mini-holiday, and in some ways was more exciting than I expect this weekend to be.

I collected the goods for Glasgow, and packaging materials for the collection, and came home.  A couple of hours later, with the normal weekly admin successfully passed onto and off the desk, I set off for the north, only a little apprehensive of the weather.  After a meal near Stamford (accompanied by East Enders on the TV), I was able to drive almost non-stop to Carlisle, where the carpark at the truck-stop provided a convenient venue for sleep.  I slept better than expected, had breakfast there, and arrived at my destination - a warehouse on Glasgow International Airport - at 9.35.  Staff were present, my cargo recognised, and I was away before the opening of the designated window.  I parked nearby and called my contact for the next day's collection to see what time his goods would be ready.  Although there was no specially good news, such as 'well, they're actually ready now', it was good to make contact, and I then knew that it would be no good arriving before 10.30 the next morning.

The Travelodge that I had booked would be accessable by 3.0pm, so I spent the morning sightseeing.  A gentle drive up to Loch Lomond's tourist centre proved worthwhile, and I got some interesting if not technically expert photos, including a second-best view of the magnificent Erskine Bridge over the Clyde.  I arrived about 2.30, and after a chat with the receptionist, who told me of his erstwhile career as a courier, I was able to settle myself in the room.  The snow had thus far confined itself to mere flurries, although there was lots of it to be seen by the roadside, and the worst of all was actually in the hotel car-park.  The following morning was tranquility itself, for I could sit unhindered and read or attend to some work on the laptop while I waited for the magic hour to creep up when I ought to leave to cross the city for my collection.

This too, went smoothly, apart from the need to take a circuitous route because of road works in the city centre, and by 11.30 I was debating whether to return via the east coast, or back down the M74.  I'd just reached the end of the City Bypass, the point of decision, when the office rang.  After the usual pleasantries and the hope confirmed that I had by then collected the goods in Edinburgh, I was offered a pick-up of some exhibition equipment near Hexham, supposedly ready at 4.0pm.  I explained that it would take a couple of hours to get there, and that, having found the place I would enquire when they would actually be ready.  Past experience had told me that these events usually finish well before the nominated time.  I arrived just after 2.0, and found the boxes neatly sealed and labelled for collection, sitting behind the reception desk.  By 2.15 I was once more on the way home.

Yesterday, therefore saw the delivery of these two consignments that I'd collected, one in Harpenden, and the other in Harlesden, before a self-contained job on the way back home, and the day was rounded off with a hospital transfer, and another event collection.  This was in the middle of Cambridge, a place beset by pedestrian areas.  Eventually I was away too late for delivery yesterday, so my working week just tipped over to the fifth day, as I took these items to our customer in Stevenage this morning, before my plans and preparations for the ringing weekend ... which is about to get under way!